


Sacrifice

by AwashSquid



Category: Bishoujo Senshi Sailor Moon | Pretty Guardian Sailor Moon, Bishoujo Senshi Sailor Moon | Pretty Guardian Sailor Moon (Anime & Manga)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-18
Updated: 2017-05-18
Packaged: 2018-11-02 06:18:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10938732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AwashSquid/pseuds/AwashSquid
Summary: Some sacrifices aren't worth it.





	Sacrifice

**Author's Note:**

> This was written with the prompt "everything I had to sacrifice." It is not a happy piece.

There is an oft-repeated phrase which tells us that when a person faces their death, they relive key moments from their life, slipping away peacefully as a nostalgic highlight reel plays over their vision. This, perhaps, is true of those who take their time to welcome death and slip into its unfamiliar embrace; but those struck down suddenly do not receive such a luxury, and so the last thing Sailor Uranus saw before her eyes closed was Sailor Neptune’s mouth, open like a jagged wound in a scream of sheer anguish.

Before the dim yellow light of Uranus’s transformation had even faded, before she even had time to register the sickening crack of skull hitting pavement, Sailor Neptune was moving, her usual speed hampered by the fact that her legs wouldn’t stop shaking underneath her. After a series of small eternities, each more difficult to endure than the last, Haruka Tenoh, bloodied and bruised and _still_ , was in her arms.

How many times had she foreseen this? How many nightmares, how many visions, how many different horrific scenarios? She had become so accustomed to their multitudes that she had missed one genuine glimpse into what had not yet transpired—just one, and the world lay in pieces in her arms.

The warmth began to fade from Haruka’s body like dry sand trickling through fingers, but Neptune couldn’t bring herself to let go. Somewhere in the back of her mind she knew that the battle must still be happening, and yet there was no longer a reason for her to be concerned. The only thing she had ever truly fought for was gone. _Everything I had to sacrifice,_ her thoughts spat bitterly, _for this._

An anguished scream pierced her concentration. It appeared that the cavalry had arrived, albeit far too late. How long had she been sitting here, her lover growing ever colder in her arms? Had it been only minutes? Time passed so much more slowly without Haruka that her internal clock was rendered useless.

(Once, she had told Haruka she would follow her into Hell. How foolish she had been! Hell was a world without Haruka to follow.)

Mercury crept to the front of her vision, movements tentative, as though not wanting to startle a wild animal, to take vital signs, but the lowered eyes beneath her visor told Michiru what she already knew. It had been no secret that Ami had never quite taken to her, but the sorrow in the blue eyes was sincere as she muttered, “I’m sorry” before walking away.

She should have nodded, she supposed, but her body felt distinctly no longer under her control. It was a miracle that she had refrained from shaking Haruka to try and wake her up, some idealistic portion of her brain wishing that she was just deep asleep. A sob rose from her mouth unbidden as she thought of all the times she had been called a mermaid, of Haruka making gooey fairy-tale references, and oh, what would she give to kiss her and have her wake?

Orange filled her view. Venus was remaining strong, acting secure, but her shaking hands and wet eyes told a different tale. “Michiru,” the other woman intoned, and she thought that she had not heard Minako call her by her name in years, “I’m so sorry. I can’t imagine—”

“No.” Her voice cracked like ice in warm water. “No, Minako, you truly cannot. Especially with what I can only assume is a most _limited_ imagination, since you were unable to imagine that this fight would end with Haruka—” The sentence snapped in half under its strain, and she could not bring herself to say the words out loud.

Minako’s jaw clenched. “I said I’m sorry. I can’t fix this. But there are still more, and we need you.” Michiru pointedly dropped her eyes to Haruka’s pale face and made no effort to move. “Neptune. You’re still a Soldier, and I’m still your leader. I’m telling you that there are others wounded, and that _we need you_.”

A short, bitter laugh erupted from dry lips. Aqua eyes met blue, and the words came slowly and deliberately, every syllable enunciated with enough sharpness to almost slice apart her grief and turn it to anger: “I don’t give a _fuck_ what you need.” Minako’s eyes bulged, and she recoiled as though the curse word had sliced her open—Michiru did not swear, but Michiru died the moment Haruka stopped breathing. “You are not fit to be any leader of mine. I refuse to stoop so low as to obey a farce who _murders_ their own comrade.” Something inside Minako collapsed then, the shoulders dropping, the mask undone, but there was no room left to care.

“Do you think,” came the tired, ragged voice, stripped of all its false semblance of control, “that you’re the only one suffering right now?” Tears poured off of Venus onto Haruka’s chest, and although she knew Haruka wouldn’t have minded, Michiru wanted to scrub them off, claiming the woman all for herself, always, as it should have been, as it would have been, if Duty and Death were not so selfish. The voice dropped into a broken whisper and choked out, “Was this what Haruka would have wanted you to do?”

Venus stood up then, wiped her eyes dry with the back of blood-soaked gloves, and walked away to where Michiru knew the rest of those standing must be gathered, watching her tragedy as though it was just another performance piece, observing her breaking like fine patrons lined up to stare at her paintings, commenting in hushed tones about the technique of her destruction as they watched it unfold, just another piece to add to their collection.

“They’re coming,” Mercury stated. Michiru gazed down at Haruka’s face, so peaceful in death, and gave a gentle kiss to the cold forehead before laying her down as gently as a child with a soap bubble.

Neptune stood then, refusing to look down at the corpse at her feet again for fear that she would collapse and never move, and turned around. The remaining Senshi were all looking forward, where the dust of collapsed buildings was stirring as the shadows moved closer. Her body felt like a broken marionette, all jerks and stumbles; still, she gracefully strode past her comrades. If they called to stop her, she did not hear it. Her hands rose slowly, a circus tent ascending for the final performance, and with every footfall, water began to pool at her feet. It rose out of the streets in fine, delicate ropes that sliced anything in their path; it roared from alleys in a tsunami that decimated everything in sight.

Against all the cold fury of the sea, the monsters stood no chance; Neptune knew this, but ensured that she left one alive anyway. It was wounded, bleeding purple blood at a rate quick enough that it would not pose much of a threat to those who fought after her, and as it charged her with its razor-sharp claws, the water dropped with a wave’s crash onto the ground. Michiru closed her eyes and pictured Haruka waiting for her with arms open. (She wasn’t sure if she believed in an afterlife, and she possessed serious doubts about her ability to gain entrance to Heaven, but it seemed as though the moment before her death was a good a time as any to indulge happy fantasies.) In her mind, Haruka embraced her, and she recalled her lover’s cologne, and the warm embrace, and the feeling that finally, _finally_ she was safe; finally, she could rest.

The water returned to the sea. The wind calmed. And when they found Michiru Kaioh’s body, none of the Senshi commented on the fact that it was smiling.


End file.
